Here's the beautiful thing about fighting: after you get hurt once, you learn to keep your guard up.
I was always incredibly cocky when I fought back in Sudbury. There were few people in my category, and even in the two above me that could give me a good fight, let alone win against me. I eventually started fighting boys, and become even more arrogant. Cue to side smiles, winks when the referee wasn't looking, and dropping my guard while prancing around them, hips swinging when I got really too bored. The beautiful thing, though, is I wasn't careless: there was always the knowledge that one kick and I was done, so my hands always stayed ready to block and I was always on the balls of my feet, milliseconds from moving out of the way. I'd get the occasional kick, but I'd ignore the pain and plow on, eventually getting my fist raised in the air by the referee. I was always triumphant, and what more, with a bruise to show off, temporary trophy that earned me praise.
But sometimes, sometimes, you get tired of always having your guard up. You get tired of dancing around on the balls of your feet and you get tired of keeping on hand in front of your face and the other in front of your chest. You let it down, even momentarily. Which is fine. It's a risk. Whether it's to try and get a particularly good move in and emerge happy, or because you're exhausted from the fight, putting your guard down can feel so damn good, if your partner is gentle and doesn't kick you too hard. And the first time in my life that I did let it down, I learned that if you're going to change the way you defend yourself, you better change the way you fight, too. If you're wide open, don't you dare prance around while provoking your adversary, pulling them in and then pushing them away. This game, no matter how patient they are, will get old. And the first time I let my guard down, my adversary let me play my game and put up with me until I laid a really low blow. Then he kicked me so hard I didn't catch my breath for a long time. Eventually, the pain edged away enough for me to realize I'd deserved it. You don't lead someone on if you're not going to be able to defend yourself.
So I have two options: I either prance around with my guards up and ready to kick as hard as I want, turning away when my partner buckle under my kick. Or I let my guard down, letting them trust me to not destroy them, and expecting the same in return.
And while it's tempting to let that infuriating (for them) side smile slowly creep up my mouth-guard-coated teeth, there's also the attraction to be able to feel like you're dancing a ballet with someone that could decide to hurt you anytime they like.
However, I like to win much too much to let my guard down anytime soon. Here's to hard kicks and a reputation of a hard-ass fighter.
With love,
Veronik
Tuesday 26 August 2014
Saturday 9 August 2014
My view on tumblr-esque feminism
Alright, so for someone who says she doesn't agree with left-wing feminism, I do talk about it a lot. It's not like it's a huge concern of mine. Treat me with the respect that you owe any human being, don't see me differently because I'm a white catholic woman, and we'll be cool. However, I'd just like to bring it up once more, in light of this delightful article I found:
http://mic.com/articles/95818/here-s-what-guys-are-actually-saying-when-they-harass-women-on-the-street?utm_source=policymicFB&utm_medium=main&utm_campaign=social
Ok, Identities.Mic. Here's what's wrong with your whole entire idea. The video, by buzzfeed, although slightly agressive, is hilarious. It shows men in a slightly subjugating light, but it does deal with a problem in a passive-agressive way that is widely seen as funny. Here's the thing though: it's a problem, yes, but I feel the same thing when I get cat-called as when a fly is buzzing around my head: slight annoyance with a tinge of uncomfortable.
The first time I got cat-called, I was still in Sudbury, I was maybe 13 years old, I was wearing my school skirt with a tight blouse tucked inside and I had high heel boots on. Understandably, I'd earned that whistle. The thing is, it unsettled me. Thirteen year old me, who had never gotten much attention despite the fact that I knew I was attractive, was flustered, flattered and wildly at lost as to what to do. So I kept walking. And that's what I still do. I keep walking when I get barked, whistled, yelled or honked at.
Every once in a while, though, there will be that one interaction that isn't quite so annoying. I was walking home from work once, and I passed a line of cars stopped at a red light. Two boys were in a black SUV, playing loud-bassed music and rocking sunglasses. The passenger turned down the music and stopped head-bobbing long enough to tell me (it is important to know that he was one lane over and did not have to yell it out to me, but rather speak it) that he found me pretty. I thanked him, he wished me a good day, and off he went. He did stick his head out the window and blew me kisses, at which point I laughed, rolled my eyes, and gave him a "what am I going to do with you" shake of the head, and then he disappeared. I never saw him again. I never saw him again. And tell you what, the only reason I've thought about him is because I needed to tell this story. He did not insult me, he did not degrade me, he did not devalue me. It was harmless.
I'm not saying it's not wrong. It is noise pollution, and it does take away some of my "precious time", but that is what living in society is all about: interaction. And honestly, I think that it says more about a man than about the perfectly innocent woman walking down the street when a man barks at her. Did you just compare your attraction to me as to one of an animal driven by wild instinct and who's attraction to bitches is only pushed by the fact that he needs to reproduce and pass his genes on? Excuse me, just let me jog after your car and follow you home!
No but seriously, for those of you who have read the article, they use expressions such as "victim", "subjugation" (which you'll notice I used earlier, in all ironism) and "harassment". They also mention that "Research has shown that male entitlement is linked with increased sexual harassment as well", with a convenient link to said research, who only mentions self-entitlement to lead to a proness to violent acts and being linked to sexism - NOT sexual harassment.
And as a girl who has actually been sexually harassed in a work environment, let me tell you that two seconds of admiration, crude as it can be, does not leave sequels unless you let it. Although it may be rude, it is not harassment. Let's all take the stick out of our rectums and realize that yes, if we follow the definition, word for word, it fits the bill, but that if we use the little bit of common sense that we should have, y'all are over-reaction.
Rant, out,
Vero.
http://mic.com/articles/95818/here-s-what-guys-are-actually-saying-when-they-harass-women-on-the-street?utm_source=policymicFB&utm_medium=main&utm_campaign=social
Ok, Identities.Mic. Here's what's wrong with your whole entire idea. The video, by buzzfeed, although slightly agressive, is hilarious. It shows men in a slightly subjugating light, but it does deal with a problem in a passive-agressive way that is widely seen as funny. Here's the thing though: it's a problem, yes, but I feel the same thing when I get cat-called as when a fly is buzzing around my head: slight annoyance with a tinge of uncomfortable.
The first time I got cat-called, I was still in Sudbury, I was maybe 13 years old, I was wearing my school skirt with a tight blouse tucked inside and I had high heel boots on. Understandably, I'd earned that whistle. The thing is, it unsettled me. Thirteen year old me, who had never gotten much attention despite the fact that I knew I was attractive, was flustered, flattered and wildly at lost as to what to do. So I kept walking. And that's what I still do. I keep walking when I get barked, whistled, yelled or honked at.
Every once in a while, though, there will be that one interaction that isn't quite so annoying. I was walking home from work once, and I passed a line of cars stopped at a red light. Two boys were in a black SUV, playing loud-bassed music and rocking sunglasses. The passenger turned down the music and stopped head-bobbing long enough to tell me (it is important to know that he was one lane over and did not have to yell it out to me, but rather speak it) that he found me pretty. I thanked him, he wished me a good day, and off he went. He did stick his head out the window and blew me kisses, at which point I laughed, rolled my eyes, and gave him a "what am I going to do with you" shake of the head, and then he disappeared. I never saw him again. I never saw him again. And tell you what, the only reason I've thought about him is because I needed to tell this story. He did not insult me, he did not degrade me, he did not devalue me. It was harmless.
I'm not saying it's not wrong. It is noise pollution, and it does take away some of my "precious time", but that is what living in society is all about: interaction. And honestly, I think that it says more about a man than about the perfectly innocent woman walking down the street when a man barks at her. Did you just compare your attraction to me as to one of an animal driven by wild instinct and who's attraction to bitches is only pushed by the fact that he needs to reproduce and pass his genes on? Excuse me, just let me jog after your car and follow you home!
No but seriously, for those of you who have read the article, they use expressions such as "victim", "subjugation" (which you'll notice I used earlier, in all ironism) and "harassment". They also mention that "Research has shown that male entitlement is linked with increased sexual harassment as well", with a convenient link to said research, who only mentions self-entitlement to lead to a proness to violent acts and being linked to sexism - NOT sexual harassment.
And as a girl who has actually been sexually harassed in a work environment, let me tell you that two seconds of admiration, crude as it can be, does not leave sequels unless you let it. Although it may be rude, it is not harassment. Let's all take the stick out of our rectums and realize that yes, if we follow the definition, word for word, it fits the bill, but that if we use the little bit of common sense that we should have, y'all are over-reaction.
Rant, out,
Vero.
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